


Off the Deep End

by novemberlite



Category: Merlin - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Humor, Daddy Issues, Ex Sex, Fingerfucking, Happy Ending, M/M, Pool Sex, Post Break-up, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-12
Updated: 2012-04-12
Packaged: 2017-11-03 12:48:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/381499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/novemberlite/pseuds/novemberlite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When they say crazy in love, they mean it literally. Why else would anyone keep coming back? </p>
<p>or</p>
<p>The fic where Merlin gets roped into working as a poolboy for his ex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Off the Deep End

**Author's Note:**

> for boo. ilu.

“I can’t believe I got sacked over a can of soup.” 

Gwen sighed. “You broke the woman’s toe.” 

“I dropped a can of soup! Did I _know_ where the can of soup was going to fall? Did I _ask_ her to put her foot there?” 

“Would you stop saying can of soup?” Morgana looked up from the newspaper and Merlin watched her glasses slide down her nose. “It wasn’t just that, anyway. Wasn’t there something about putting tampons in the fridge?”

“And milk in the toiletries,” Gwen supplied, nodding. 

“That was one time. I was distracted!” Merlin threw his hands in the air and tea sloshed out of the cup he’d forgotten he was holding. It splattered on Morgana’s paper and she leveled him with a look. Merlin cleared his throat before repeating, quieter this time: “I was distracted.”

“You’re clumsy,” Morgana corrected, and Gwen reached over to pat his hand when his face fell. “Don’t give us that look, Merlin. You know it’s a miracle Gaius put up with you for this long.” 

“He could’ve put up with me for a little longer,” Merlin said, morose. “I won’t have enough money left for rent now.”

Morgana lowered her paper and looked at him, assessing, in the sort of way that made Merlin wonder if he hadn’t put on his shirt backwards, or grown another nose. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and said, 

“Well. I do know someone who’s looking to hire. The job’s a bit—” She wrinkled her nose and Merlin wondered what sort of job they were talking about. The things that prompted a nose wrinkle from Morgana usually prompted a _Hey, I was eating that!_ from him. “—but it’s nothing that requires much hand-eye coordination, and the pay isn’t bad.” 

She glanced at Gwen for a split second before continuing, “I could put in a good word for you if you wanted.” 

Merlin blinked. “Really? Well, I—”

“I don’t think that’s necessary,” Gwen said, more tersely than Merlin could remember hearing in a while. She stood and began clearing the table, starting with Morgana’s untouched cup of tea. “Gaius will come around in a few days, Merlin, you know that.” 

“And you’ll be back to endangering innocent customers on a shoddy salary,” Morgana said, pausing when Gwen cut her a glare. She lifted her hands, palms out, and turned to Merlin with an expression so earnest it was actually rather terrifying. “I’m just saying you have an option. Think about it.” 

Merlin nibbled contemplatively on a biscuit and thought about it for all of three seconds. 

“Let’s do it.”

“Merlin!” Gwen confiscated his biscuit, ruthless, and leaned in so that Morgana was blocked from his view. “You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into. Don’t worry about the rent, all right? I’ll take care of it.”

“You took care of it last month,” Merlin protested, “and the month before that. I’m starting to feel like a kept man.” He tried in vain to grab the biscuit Gwen was holding just outside his reach. “You’re the one who keeps telling me I’m not meant to be working at the market.” 

Gwen’s eyebrows contorted in the way they did when Merlin worried her. “But—”

“And if the pay’s as good as Morgana says it is, I’ll be able to pay you back – maybe get Mum something nice for her birthday.” 

“I just don’t think this is a good idea,” Gwen said, looking as if she wanted to say something more but wasn’t sure how. Merlin sighed and – with infinite patience, he thought –pressed a fond kiss to the corner of her pursed mouth. 

“Stop _fretting._ It’s just a job. I can do this.”

* * *

“I can’t do this.” 

“I am kind and lovely,” Gwen said, voice broken by static, courtesy of Merlin’s shitty mobile, “so I won’t say I told you so.” She paused. “Except that I totally did.”

“Gwen,” Merlin whined. 

“Oh all right, what’s he done now? Has he said anything about—”

“No, he hasn’t—he hasn’t seen me. Yet.” 

There was silence, during which Merlin switched ears and spat a few leaves out of his mouth. 

“Merlin. Are you hiding in the bushes again?” 

“No,” Merlin lied unconvincingly.

“Merlin. Come out from there before he catches you molesting the shrubbery. You have a job to do, remember?” 

“Sarcasm doesn’t suit you,” Merlin said, and, feeling petty: “Neither does the colour blue!” 

“I’m crushed,” Gwen said, not even trying to sound a little upset. “So you saw him, did you? How does he look, then? Morgana tells me he’s gotten a bit round around the middle--” 

“I’m going to kill Morgana,” Merlin vowed, “so she won’t be able to tell any more filthy, filthy lies. He’s – God, Gwen, he’s as fit as he ever was, and _tanned_ , on top of that—”

“The fake kind?’ Gwen asked hopefully.

“No, the kind you get from prancing about on the tropical island your father rented for two months,” Merlin snapped. “And his hair’s so bloody shiny and – and the sun isn’t even out!” 

Gwen sighed down the line and Merlin chewed on his lip. Seeing Arthur again had knocked him off balance right as he’d started to regain his footing, started to believe he could make it work without him around. Merlin wasn’t sure what needled him more: the fact that Arthur looked so bright and happy and _him_ , or that he still had the power to make Merlin so miserable.

He reiterated this to Gwen and she sighed again. “This isn’t how you’re supposed to go about getting over him, Merlin.” 

“I _am_ over him,” Merlin insisted. There was silence on the other end of the line. “I am,” he said again. “I just wasn’t expecting him to show up looking so bloody – perfect, is all. He looks… and next to him, I’m—I’m a mess.”

“You’re not a mess,” Gwen said sharply. “You’re doing fine and you’re better off without him. Remember when we decided that?’

“Was that after the third bottle of vodka? Because then, no.” 

“Well, we’re deciding it now. I didn’t want Morgana to meddle but maybe she’s right. Maybe what you need is, I don’t know, closure. Going away on holiday didn’t change the fact that he’s a right prat, Merlin, you’ll see.” 

“I know that,” Merlin said, absently tearing out clumps of grass before he realized what he was doing and tried to smush them back into the ground with a wince. “He’s always been a prat.” And then, belated and soft: “I hate him.”

“I know you do,” Gwen replied, quiet. “Just—don’t let him get to you.”

“I’m a little tempted to punch his stupid perfect face,” Merlin confessed.

“You’ve already done that. Twice.”

“Third time’s the charm?”

Gwen’s reply, no doubt a fond, exasperated _Merlin_ was cut off by the rustle of bushes and the subsequent panic that caused Merlin to drop his phone. Leaves showered his face as the bushes were parted by a long arm and Merlin squinted in the sunlight, at a man who was thankfully not Arthur. 

“Uh, hullo,” Merlin said, attempting a grin. The severe lines of the man’s face remained unchanged and Merlin groped blindly for his phone while brushing debris out of his hair. “Sorry, I was just, you know.” He made a wiggly gesture with his hand that he hoped conveyed, _not doing anything suspicious, not at all._

“I was not aware Mr. Pendragon paid you to engage in phone conversations,” the man rumbled, apparently unimpressed by Merlin’s hand acrobatics. 

“Oh. Yeah.” Merlin winced. “I mean, no. He doesn’t. I’m the, um, the hired help. Merlin.” 

He held out a hand and the man regarded it as if it was a strange and unappetizing dish. Merlin cleared his throat and was about to pull his hand back when a familiar voice made every muscle seize in abject terror.

“Smok,” the voice said, impatient, and Merlin thought it came from somewhere behind the man. He couldn’t be sure because he’d squeezed his eyes shut in order to better allow his mantra (which happened to be a jumble of things from _calm, you are calm like a lake_ to _don’t do anything that will require me to bail you out_ – all in, unsurprisingly, Gwen’s voice) to penetrate. “Father needs you in the study.”

“Of course, sir,” the man said, and Merlin twitched one eye open just as he moved out of the way, bringing him face to face with his own personal hell. 

“Merlin,” Arthur said blankly, gaze flickering from Merlin’s face to his yet outstretched hand and then back to his face again. “You have flowers in your hair.”

“What?” Merlin’s voice came out as a croak. He retracted his hand, batted weakly at his hair, and was greeted by a rain of small, white flowers. “Oh. Where did those come from?” 

Arthur’s eyes narrowed and he nodded towards the bushes Merlin had hidden in, adorned by clusters of flowers Merlin had somehow failed to notice. He licked his lips as he thought of a response that wouldn’t lead to Arthur knowing exactly what he’d been doing for the better part of the afternoon, and Arthur’s gaze dropped to his mouth. 

Merlin’s stomach bottomed out. 

“What are you doing here?” Arthur demanded, jaw clenched, obviously having seen something in his traitorous, heinously expressive face. “Were you in the _bushes?_ ” 

“No,” Merlin scoffed, and Arthur’s eyebrows rose. “What’s it to you, anyway?”

“This is my house,” Arthur said slowly, patronizing in a way that made Merlin’s hands twitch into fists. “You were in my bushes.”

“I wasn’t in the bloody bushes,” Merlin snapped. “And if you must know, I’m here for my job. So you might as well get out of my way, because some of us have work to do.”

“What job?” Incredulous was a terrible look for him, Merlin thought, vicious. “What the hell are you on about?” 

Merlin ignored him and was about to push past when Arthur grabbed his arm and yanked him back. “Wait, wait,” he said, “you don’t mean—are you the _pool boy?_ ” 

“The job description said hired help,” Merlin growled, and jerked his arm away, rubbing at the tingles left by Arthur’s hand. 

Arthur’s eyes had widened to the point that it would be comical if they weren’t so damn pretty. Merlin scowled while the beginnings of a smirk twitched around Arthur’s mouth. He reached out a hand and Merlin took an instinctive step backwards, leaving Arthur to snag the edge of his neckerchief and tug.

“A little overdressed for the job, aren’t you?” Arthur said, voice low, lips curled. “Hm, pool boy?”

“Fuck off,” Merlin hissed, face burning. Arthur laughed and Merlin let out an inarticulate sound of fury, turning around smartly and stomping in the direction of – well, it didn’t even matter as long as it was in a direction away from Arthur. 

“It looks like a good day for a swim!” Arthur called out after him, and Merlin decided someone had to die.

* * *

“I’m going to kill you.”

Morgana raised a single eyebrow. “You can try.” 

Merlin threw an empty packet of sugar at her and she dodged neatly. 

“Child,” she observed.

“Bitch,” Merlin replied, and dragged a hand down his face, turning toward the window and busy passersby beyond it. Mid-afternoon usually saw this café bursting at the seams, full of college students and businessmen and the occasional loser with an addiction to cheap coffee, but today was a slow day and they’d managed to secure a rare seat. 

The booth was cramped enough that Merlin’s long legs complained unless he propped them up, and the sight of his scuffed sneakers next to Morgana’s chic purse was a strange one. They didn’t go out alone very often; he’d always had Gwen or Arthur as a buffer between them and Merlin was unsettled to find himself at the centre of Morgana’s attention. 

It felt a bit like being blinded by a wayward spotlight in the middle of a theatre production – not that Merlin ever had been, mind. He hadn’t fallen off the stage and broken his foot in three places either.

“Was it that bad?” Morgana asked, and Merlin snapped out of his daydream to find her watching him carefully. Merlin would have waited for her to elaborate if he thought she would.

“Define ‘bad.’”

Morgana leaned back and took a sip of her coffee, dainty and calculated, like the rest of her. “Did you end up trying to break his nose again?” 

“Define ‘try,’” Merlin said, and shifted in his seat when Morgana began to finger her fork suggestively. “What do you want me to say?” he grumbled. “It’s Arthur. He’s a prat. I can’t believe you tricked me into working for him.”

“You’re working for Uther,” Morgana corrected.

“Oh, thank you, because his psychopath father is so much better.” 

The slow sip Morgana took was the equivalent of a sigh. “Did Arthur say anything? About what happened?” 

“Was he supposed to?” Merlin countered. “There’s nothing left to say, Morgana. He’s said it all and then some.” 

“He hasn’t apologized.”

“And he won’t.” Merlin turned back to the mill of people outside the window, avoiding her eyes. Morgana saw too much, sometimes. “I never expected him to. You know how he is.” 

“You used to. You used to expect things from him no one else thought to.” She drew her nail over a hairline crack on the cup. “Not even me.” 

“Yeah, well.” The crowd on the street blurred into a mass of color, blues and browns and the occasional dash of pure white. Merlin shook his head and blinked away the haze. “We can see how that turned out.” 

“He’s changed, Merlin. It isn’t obvious, but—” Morgana trailed off, obviously frustrated. “He argues more with Uther, about every little thing. He doesn’t back down as easily, he tries to make his own way—”

“It’s not enough,” Merlin cut in. “All right? Even if he does get out from under Uther’s thumb, it won’t be because of me.” 

“How do you know that?” Morgana demanded. “You’re both such – boys. When was the last time you asked him about it? When was the last time you talked?”

“I imagine right before he _dumped me,_ ” Merlin said, ripping open a sugar packet with such zeal that powdered sugar scattered all over the table. “No, wait. I remember we exchanged a few words after that too. I recall _asshole_ and _stupid fucking git._ ” 

Morgana locked her jaw and turned away while Merlin flicked sugar off his trousers. He cleared away the last bit and scratched at his fringe. He was never sure what Morgana expected from him; she wasn’t the type of person who was happy at being told she was right, at being agreed with. Satisfaction only eased the harsh lines of her face when she felt you’d taken the long, winding route of thought and arrived at the same conclusion she had.

So far Merlin hadn’t figured that trick out. He wasn’t sure anyone had – but he did suspect Gwen got away with it by distracting Morgana with her smile.

“Look, what’s this about, huh?” He tested it out, his smile a lopsided imitation of Gwen’s. “I took the job, didn’t I? Even after I figured out who I was working for.” 

It didn’t work. _Bugger_ , Merlin thought, as Morgana said, “And I wondered why that was.” 

Merlin shrugged. “You were right. The pay’s good, the job’s easy. I need the money.”

“Is that the only reason?” Morgana asked, shrewd. “You’re going to stick it out for that?” 

“Well,” Merlin said, knocking back the rest of his coffee like a shot. It burned on the way down. “It wouldn’t be the first time I was living off of Arthur Pendragon’s pocket money.”

Morgana’s face pinched and Merlin felt a brief pang of remorse for bringing it up. He’d gotten used to joking about it; it was easy to turn words that had clawed him up inside into a catchphrase, a bitterly amusing memento of their relationship, and Merlin often forgot most people weren’t half as self-deprecating as he was.

“He didn’t mean it like that,” Morgana said, but she was the one looking out the window now.

“He meant it exactly like that,” Merlin said, but softened the words with a smile. After a moment’s deliberation, he knocked against Morgana’s heeled foot with his own. 

“Hey, come on. D’you really want to waste the afternoon talking about _Arthur?_ ” He wrinkled his nose in consternation and Morgana slid her glasses up her nose to hide a smile. 

She ducked her head, a gesture uncharacteristically shy for a woman so headstrong. “What else do we have in common?”

Merlin blinked in surprise. Morgana had been enveloped into their fold only as he’d gotten to know Arthur, yes, but Merlin thought she’d found her place since then, as Gwen’s best friend and confidant. Gwen had---and oh, he realized, with a start. _Gwen_. Not Merlin.

He took advantage of her momentary embarrassment and bounced another sugar packet off her head. When she looked up, startled, he let his smile widen into a grin. 

“Let’s find out.”

* * *

When Merlin had woken up in the morning and looked out the window, he’d been hard-pressed to believe it was 8 A.M. Cloudy days were as common and expected as pollution in his home town but it still took him by surprise sometimes, how they worked and lived under a blanket and never gave it another thought.

By mid morning the clouds had thinned enough that the lights flickered off on his street, winking away one by one. Merlin found himself in the grip of a bizarre déjà vu at the sight and it wasn’t until he was two blocks over that he realized he was channeling Harry Potter. 

He snorted at the thought and paused to examine himself in the window of an antique shop, putting on a suitably dejected expression and intoning in a low voice, “Well, the resemblance is _uncanny_.” And then: “But the scarf, you could do without.”

He grinned at his reflection until the shopkeeper gingerly began to reach for her phone, darting an alarmed look in his direction. 

“Oh, no,” he said, shaking his head empathically, “I wasn’t – I was just – talking to myself.” The shopkeeper didn’t seem comforted, so he gave her a weak wave, shoved his hands into his pockets, and resumed walking.

The Pendragon Estate was more than an hour’s walk from Merlin’s flat, but his bike was out of commission and Gwen was already at work by the time his presence was required. Merlin didn’t mind the exercise even though the scenery was lacking; it was his destination that soured his mood and made him dawdle. 

His first day at the job had been noticeably without incident: raking this and netting that, rescuing a wayward toad and figuring out what to do with a pesky tile that kept popping out of place. There was little that allowed him to cock up as badly as he’d done in the market (though he did manage to skid on flagstone and nearly brain himself) and the garden that surrounded the pool was nothing short of enchanting. It reminded him of a smaller version his mum had tended in Ealdor, filled him with daydreams that were half memories, fancy that was fuzzy around the edges. 

There were more recent memories as well – stolen kisses behind the petunias, bark scraping at his back and a mouth on his throat – but Merlin ignored those with a desperate sort of determination, fixing his attention on his work and the people around him. 

The man who’d caught him in the bushes, Wielki Smok, turned out to be stranger than Merlin expected. He had some bizarre fascination with coins and managed to work them into every stilted conversation, with far more gravity than the usual collector possessed. Merlin would’ve been tempted to keep his distance if the man didn’t also harbor a thinly veiled hatred for one Uther Pendragon, which was the sort of cause Merlin felt he could get behind. 

The day had passed quickly between Smok and his obscure metaphors. Arthur never showed up, for all his taunting, and Merlin wasn’t disappointed in the least. Really, the fact that it had been such a good day could be attributed to his absence. 

“If only he’d just disappear off the face of the earth,” Merlin muttered under his breath as he neared the estate. “And if wishes were horses…” 

The grass squelched under his sneakers as he cut his way across the yard. Smok had told him that paths were paved for a reason but what the _point_ in walking in elaborate loops when you could walk in a straight line and get to your destination an hour earlier? 

He rubbed his hands together briskly against the gathering chill and picked up a rake from the shed. It was cooler here than it was near his flat, but brighter as well – the illusion of a sunny day fractured by the way the tip of his nose was slowly going numb. Merlin was willing to bet the pool would be deserted.

If he had, he would’ve lost. Arthur’s body cut a long line in the water, the practiced sweep of his arms creating waves that lapped at the edge of the pool, and Merlin felt the mad urge to backtrack even as his feet propelled him forwards. 

Golden hair turned dark by the water resurfaced and Merlin blurted, “Arthur! Are you mad? You’re going to freeze to death!” 

Arthur ran a hand over his face and squinted at Merlin before swiping at his eyes. “Are you daft? It’s heated.” 

A splash emphasized his statement and Merlin recoiled from the spray of water, warm as it was, sputtering. Arthur’s mouth tipped into a smirk and he eyed the rake Merlin was holding in front him like a shield with ill-concealed amusement. The bunch of his shoulders drew Merlin’s attention as he propelled himself forward, the shifting of muscle reminding him what they felt like under his palms. 

“Well?” Arthur drawled, resting his arms on the edge of the pool and cupping his chin with a hand. “Are you just going to stand around and stare all day? I know I’m a sight, but really, Merlin. Try to act like a professional.” 

Merlin tightened his grip on the rake and refrained from bashing him over the head with it. Gwen would be proud, he thought, and poked half heartedly at the dead leaves littering the ground as he moved around the edge of the pool. It was only when he’d rounded the circumference to the other side that he realized Arthur had been following him, floating on his back and kicking lazily, blue eyes fixed on Merlin’s face.

“What?” he snapped, the back of his neck prickling from Arthur’s stare.

“What?” Arthur mimicked, affecting the whiny sort of tone that Merlin’s voice didn’t resemble at all. “What’s got your knickers in a twist? I’d think you would’ve gotten used to getting sacked by now.” 

“How do you know—”

“Please,” Arthur said, rolling his eyes. “As if you’d ever go and quit on Gaius.” His gaze turned calculating. “What’d you do this time? Request condoms on the intercom again?” 

Merlin grit his teeth and Arthur’s grin widened, fully aware of the residual mortification Merlin still felt from that incident, when the teenager who’d asked him for the condoms had burst into loud tears. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”

“I’m your employer,” Arthur said. “That makes it my business.”

“No,” Merlin snapped, gathering more leaves into an ever-growing pile. “That would be your father. Speaking of which, how is Uther these days? Still doting on his little boy?” 

Arthur’s smile tightened around the corners, but didn’t fade. “Wouldn’t you like to know.” 

Merlin shrugged, propping his rake up and tilting his head to the side. “I’m curious. Has he figured out you’re a poof yet?” 

Merlin had no doubt that if Arthur hadn’t been in the pool, he would have been on the receiving end of a fist to the face. He might even deserve it, he thought, as Arthur’s eyes shuttered and he dove, a tense arrow through the water. They’d hurt each other enough already, without Merlin stepping in to needle an open wound. 

His throat tightened as he watched Arthur make a round, then two, barely coming up for air at all. He wasn’t surprised, not really; they’d always brought out the best and worst in each other, one pushing and shoving until the other broke or pushed back – an essential, if often destructive, cycle. He missed it, Merlin realized with a sick lurch of his stomach, and didn’t allow himself to think he missed _him_.

He turned his attention back to the leaves and kept it there until Arthur surfaced, swiping his hair out of his eyes and taking in a slow, measured breath. The tendons in his neck were tense and Merlin knew the tension would morph into a headache soon, pounding at the base of his skull and behind his eyes. Arthur kicked himself flat and floated while Merlin watched, biting his lower lip.

“You were never this much of a swimmer before,” he blurted, then winced at the unsteady sound of his voice. Arthur’s eyes were fixed on the clouds and seconds ticked by, stretching the silence into something unbearable, until Merlin was itching to get away. 

“I spent two months on an island,” Arthur said finally, though he didn’t face Merlin. “Didn’t have much to do but swim.” 

Merlin made a noncommittal sound and drew his rake absently over the ground, relieved to have broken the tense silence, and entirely unprepared for what next came out of Arthur’s mouth. 

“I met a girl.” 

His voice was lazy, careless, like a punch to the gut. Merlin’s grip slackened on the rake and he fumbled with it as he tried to arrange his thoughts into some semblance of order, chest tight with shock and hurt. Arthur sounded casual but Merlin had witnessed this particular set of his mouth enough times to recognize it for what it was. 

“Sophia,” he said, slowly like he was savoring the word, her name. “She’s beautiful.” 

He turned and met Merlin’s eyes. “Father approves.” 

This was Arthur, pushing back. 

Merlin forced himself to nod, jerk his mouth into a crooked smile. “As long as he approves,” he managed to choke out. “That’s all that matters, right?” 

Arthur’s eyes flickered, face drawn, and Merlin wondered if they were ever going to stop coming to blows, if it would ever stop hurting so fucking badly. His hands were clammy, couldn’t seem to work the rake properly, and Merlin needed to not be in front of Arthur right now, needed someplace dark and quiet and _not here_ to keep himself together. 

Either Arthur had the same compulsion or he recognized the desperation in Merlin’s face, because he splashed him again with a flat sweep of his hand. “Go home,” he said, as Merlin took a startled step back. “You can make up the hours tomorrow night.” 

“What?” 

Arthur ducked underwater and slicked his hair back as he resurfaced. “We’re hosting a party and we need someone to serve the drinks.” He looked Merlin up and down as if assessing his value as a server. “I’m sure you’ll end up spilling something on someone,” he said, “but the kitchen staff is going to be busy.” 

Merlin’s eyes narrowed. “Here’s an idea: how about _you_ serve the bloody drinks? I’m not your waiter.” 

“No,” Arthur agreed, amiable, “you’re my _pool boy_.” He smiled beatifically as Merlin ground his teeth, all signs of strain melting under the amusement he derived from torturing him. “If you want to spend the rest of the afternoon pushing leaves around, feel free. If not, be here at eight.” 

The dismissal was obvious in the kick of his legs as he dove. Merlin twisted his lips and took off for the shed with sigh and the thought: _I’m going to regret this._

* * *

“You don’t have to do this.” 

Merlin pulled on his sneakers and patted the pockets of his jeans for his mobile. “Where’s my phone?”

“On the dresser,” Gwen replied promptly, and then frowned at him. “Merlin. Listen to me.” 

“I am listening,” Merlin said as he walked out of the room, Gwen trailing behind and glaring at the back of his head. “You’ve been saying the same thing for the last hour.” 

“Because you aren’t listening!” 

Merlin tucked the phone into his pocket and turned to face Gwen. He gave her a quick peck on the cheek and headed for the front door, only to trip over himself as she grabbed the hood of his jacket and yanked him back. 

“Merlin,” she said once he’d righted himself, mouth pinched. “You know this is making you miserable.” 

Her eyes flickered for a split second and Merlin knew she was remembering how he’d come home and collapsed on the bed yesterday, spent the rest of the evening watching antelopes getting eaten on Animal Planet. Gwen had caught him sniffling into the cushions a while after, but that was because his attachment to the antelopes was strong. 

“Gwen—” he started, but she cut him off.

“No, look. I talked to Gaius yesterday and he’s still a bit, well, you know, but if you go and—well, all right, you’ll have to grovel, but you’re good at that. You can get your job back, you don’t have to—to _cater_ to that—” She trailed off, unable to come up with a good enough insult. Merlin was tempted to supply her with a few, but manfully resisted, instead saying:

“It’s just a job. I’m fine with it, really.” 

“It’s _Arthur_ ,” Gwen insisted. “You can’t just ignore the history there.”

“What history?” Merlin waved his hand in a grand, all encompassing gesture. “It was a fling.” 

Gwen looked at him. “It was two years.”

“Fling, like I said.” Merlin grinned at the look on her face and threaded their hands together, giving and taking comfort in their casual affection. “I can’t back out now, anyway. He’d be insufferable if I let him win.” 

“It wouldn’t matter if you never had to see him again!” Gwen exclaimed, and then: “And what do you mean, win – this isn’t a game, this—”

“It really is,” Merlin said. “We’re done, yeah? But he won’t stop trying to get one up on me. I bet the whole point of this party is to show off his new girlfriend.” He wrinkled his nose and pitched his voice higher in an obnoxious imitation of Arthur. “ _Sophia._ She’s _beautiful_.” 

Gwen looked unimpressed. “And you’re going to play right into that, are you?”

“Well, yeah.” Merlin blinked. “I mean, I want to get to talk to her. I think she’d appreciate my insight on how much Arthur likes cock.” 

“I don’t think it’s Sophia you want to talk to,” Gwen said quietly, as she reached out to straighten his lapel. She looked up, regarded him with calm eyes, and Merlin couldn’t lie. She’d know, anyway.

“Maybe,” he said, and let himself be pulled into a hug. “It’s just. He was my best mate.”

“I know. I think that was the problem,” Gwen said into his shoulder, before pulling away. “I don’t like this,” she sighed, “but at least I’ll get something out of your paycheque.” 

“Keep dreaming.” Merlin stuck out his tongue and dodged her swipe as he escaped out the door.

* * *

Merlin arrived half an hour late to spite Arthur and was greeted by a small sea of people leaking out of the house and milling about the garden. It was a proper party, if a bit subdued for his usual get-togethers. The last one Merlin had attended – though, thankfully, not as a waiter – had a band playing in the background, buffet and seating set up right near the pool. 

This one seemed more like a business affair; a large amount of the guests too old to pass off as Arthur’s friends. The men were clusters of classy suits, but some women had taken off their high heels and were sitting on the edge of the pool, dipping their pedicured toes in the water. 

Merlin shucked off his jacket near the shed and ran clammy palms down the white button-down Gwen had pulled out from the black hole that was his closet. The collar made the back of his neck itch and he couldn’t remember having worn it before – he suspected it was one his mother had bought in hopes of getting him to look presentable. 

“There you go, mum,” Merlin muttered under his breath. “If only you could see how positively dashing I look.” He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “As a waiter.”

Smok caught him right as he was cutting across the yard, armed with a disapproving look and a tray. 

“You are late,” he said gravely.

“Sorry, sorry,” Merlin said before he could go off on another tangent about coins. Smok sniffed and brandished the tray, making Merlin wince in fear of being smacked with it before he realized it was being handed to him. 

“Right,” he said, taking it gingerly and securing his grip. He had vowed to himself tonight would be a night free from accidents, stains, and head trauma. He planned to keep that vow. “Let’s do this. So, uh. What do I do, exactly?”

“You serve,” Smok said, in the same way someone might say _it is your destiny._

“Right,” Merlin said again, and allowed himself to be led onto the winding cobblestone path by a stern glare. 

The first hour passed without incident; his server status seemed to turn him invisible to the rest of the guests as they blindly took drink after drink from his hand, and Merlin’s death grip on his tray seemed to help prevent accidents of the _oh I’m so sorry I spilled red wine all over your sparkly white dress_ kind. The drinks in question were actually a fruity pink sort of colour, but Merlin thought the sentiment was there. 

There were a few men he recognized as Arthur’s college friends, but no one seemed to recognize him, which was unsurprising. They’d only met once or twice at gatherings not unlike these, and Merlin was good at going unnoticed even when he wasn’t passing off as the hired help. Arthur himself was inconspicuously absent – not that Merlin was seeking him out, or anything – but it was all for the better since it allowed him to put the utmost concentration into his work.

And then he appeared, quite suddenly, on the heel of Merlin’s thought, looking bright and posh and unfairly perfect, and shot Merlin’s concentration straight to hell. 

There was a woman by his side that Merlin immediately identified as Sophia. She didn’t have his arm but leaned in like she did, the complicated twist of her hair leaving her neck bare, vulnerable while the tilt of her chin indicated pride. She was… undeniably pretty, Merlin settled on, if you were partial to the doe-eyed look, which Arthur seemed to be. It was easy to see why Uther approved; even the way she smiled was classy, if fake, and not at all unlike how Arthur had been when Merlin first met him.

They made a charming pair, and Merlin wasn’t the only one who thought so. More than a few guests were gazing approvingly in their direction and Sophia seemed to thrive off the attention, pressing herself closer to Arthur’s side and tilting her face up to his. Arthur responded with a wan smile and his eyes flickered up just in time to see someone knock into Merlin from behind.

In all fairness, Merlin thought, as he stared at the man he’d covered in fruity pink drink, this was not his fault. His hands hadn’t even left the tray; he wasn’t sure they _could_ , anymore, since a cramp had set in after the first ten minutes. He thought of how best to present this evidence as he backed up from the man’s horrified expression, which was rapidly turning into one of murderous rage.

“You—bloody—”

“I’m sorry,” Merlin blurted. “That wasn’t – I wasn’t being clumsy that time. Someone ran into me, and we, uh, we have napkins, let me go and—”

“Merlin!” A voice announced, and a hand suddenly clamped down hard onto his shoulder.

Merlin dropped the tray. 

It fell with a bang-clatter-clatter (which was rather obnoxious of it, Merlin thought) and the hand tightened as Arthur gritted out, “ _Mer_ lin, you great clumsy oaf.” 

Merlin opened his mouth to protest that statement, but Arthur was quicker, extending his hand to the man in fruity pink drink with a cheery greeting. “Charles! Glad you could make it. I see you’ve met my friend, Merlin.”

The man’s mouth opened, and then closed. He shook his head and then Arthur’s hand, glancing blearily between the two of them before going, “I—apologize. I thought he was—” His face tensed as he tried to come up with a way to call his host’s friend an attendant.

Arthur saved him the trouble, waving off his explanation and signaling another waiter with a flip of his hand. “It’s an easy mistake to make,” he said. “Merlin was helping out; we’re a little short tonight.” And then, to the waiter, “See if we can’t get Charles cleaned up, yeah?” 

The waiter shot Merlin a dirty look as he led Charles away and Arthur’s hand gave his shoulder another punishing squeeze before dropping off. Merlin turned to find Arthur looking right at him, bright eyed from alcohol and something else Merlin didn’t want to decipher. 

“Friend, huh?” 

Arthur shrugged, but didn’t look away. “Couldn’t have him thinking I hired incompetent help.” 

“But incompetent friends are all right?” Merlin’s voice sounded strange to his own ears, too thready and soft. It took too much effort to hold Arthur’s gaze so he let his wander, flitting over the crowd until it landed on Sophia, who was watching them curiously.

“She’s waiting for you,” Merlin said, and then bit the inside of his cheek. 

“I suppose she is.” Arthur made no move to leave and Merlin was about to, for both their sakes, when he reached out and trailed a finger down the column of buttons on Merlin’s shirt. “What in heaven’s name are you wearing, Merlin.” 

“I was trying to look the part,” Merlin said, as Arthur moved on to tugging on his sleeves. 

“You look ridiculous.” There was a pause, and Merlin risked a glance at Arthur to find him tracing the curve of Merlin’s neck with his eyes, pausing on the hollow at the base of his throat before landing on his chest. When he spoke again, his voice was hoarse. “And you’re cold.” 

Merlin folded his arms over his chest and looked away. “’m not.” 

“Haven’t you brought a jacket?” 

“I’m not cold.”

“Do I need to take off mine?”

Merlin grabbed his arm before Arthur could shrug out of his jacket, glaring fiercely at the cocky smirk that graced his mouth. Arthur pointedly looked around and raised an eyebrow, and Merlin hissed, “Prat,” before heading for the shed. 

He turned once he reached the edge of the lawn to see Arthur making his way towards Sophia’s welcoming smile, taking her hand and drawing her up and into him. Merlin ignored the tightening in his chest and turned away, determined not to dwell on the _what if_ s and _could have been_ s. There wasn’t any reason for him to feel possessive over Arthur anymore because Arthur wasn’t his – he’d flipped through that chapter in his life and Merlin was trying his damn hardest to do the same. 

Being so near Arthur didn’t make it any easier but even after everything Merlin couldn't seem to eradicate him from his life completely. They had been friends long before they became lovers and for all that had seemed like what they’d been leading up to the entire time, maybe it wasn’t what they were meant for. A step in the wrong direction was just that: a step. There wasn’t anything that said Merlin couldn’t retrace it, couldn’t go back to what it was like before.

Except he knew for a fact he would never be able to forget what Arthur tasted like. It wasn’t the physicality of it, not just the intimacy but the knowledge, the slopes and planes of Arthur’s body something he couldn’t unlearn. He couldn’t look at Arthur and not _know_ what it would feel like to slide a hand into his hair, pull him into a kiss, how he’d react if Merlin sucked on that spot underneath his jaw. 

It had been thrilling, then, to discover something new in every touch about someone he knew better than anyone else. Now it weighted his mind and crowded the recesses; made him ache and shrug on his jacket and lean back against the wall of the shed, measuring his breath in the dark. 

He found a wayward cigarette in his pocket but no lighter, thought of calling Gwen but was unsure of what he would say. _Remember when I said I was over him?_ he could start, _yeah, well. I lied_. Gwen’s sigh would fracture over his shitty connection but the _I know_ would come across loud and clear, more evidence of just how bad he was at this denial thing.

Merlin slid down the wall with a sigh of his own, fingering the cigarette idly before pocketing it again. He knocked his head back and thought of Arthur and Sophia and how easy he had it, how quickly he moved on. Merlin was almost tempted to ask how he did it but he was afraid the answer would be a shrug and _I never really cared that much to begin with._

A lump formed in his throat at the thought and Merlin stubbornly swallowed around it, forced it down. The door creaked and he turned, expecting to encounter Smok and another ambiguous lecture on work ethic and coins. He found Arthur instead, outlined in the dark and coming closer.

“I should have known you’d be slacking off,” Arthur said, but the rancor was missing from his voice. He sounded oddly solemn and Merlin wished he could see his face, read intention in his eyes. 

“Yeah, well,” he replied, after a short silence during which Arthur took a seat beside him on the floor. “Just following your example.”

Arthur snorted and leaned back, let shadows play on the lean line of his neck. “How long were you planning to sit here and brood?” he asked finally. “There are drinks that need spilling.” 

“Sod off,” Merlin muttered, and Arthur jostled him with his elbow until he scooted out of range, glaring. “What’re you doing here, anyway? I think they’ll notice their host is missing.”

Arthur shrugged. “They’ll live,” he said, and kicked Merlin’s shin. 

“What about your girlfriend?” Merlin bit his tongue but it didn’t keep the words from escaping. “It isn’t polite to ditch your date in the middle of all that. What would Uther say?” 

There was silence and Merlin wondered if Arthur wouldn’t just get up and leave, save them both the trouble of another painful conversation. _Friends,_ he thought with a silent snort. _Right._

But Arthur didn’t leave. “She isn’t my girlfriend.” 

Merlin’s throat tightened. He ignored it and affected a curious tone. “Oh?” he asked. “You proposed already?” 

“Shut up, Merlin.” Arthur sounded tired and Merlin was nearly overcome by the urge to smooth out the wrinkles he knew must have formed on his brow. “I haven’t come here to fight.”

“That’s new,” Merlin forced out, and Arthur turned to look at him, crown of his hair bright even in the dim light wafting in from outside. “What did you want, then?”

It was the wrong thing to ask. Merlin knew it was the second the words left his mouth, the instant Arthur’s gaze turned calculating. He couldn’t see Arthur’s eyes but he didn’t need to – the tilt of his chin said enough, almost as much as the hand curling around Merlin’s ankle, thumb pressing against the jut of bone. Arthur moved slowly, leaned like it was their first kiss and he was unsure of the reception, but Merlin knew the reason behind it wasn’t fear of rejection; he was giving Merlin the chance to say no, move away, giving him to time to realize why he _couldn’t._

Merlin didn’t expect it to be different from any other kiss they’d shared, but he felt like he should. He’d gone so long without this, it’d make sense to wonder if the angle would be uncertain, if their mouths would still fit, if it would make him feel the way it had before, when Arthur’s breath would land in quiet puffs on his cheek and Merlin would feel dizzy from want. But he didn’t wonder, didn’t even think to, just tilted his head to the side and reveled in the catch of moist skin, the easy familiarity that made up Arthur. 

He didn’t know who pulled away first; maybe both of them, maybe neither. Maybe they’d come to their senses or time had wedged its way between their mouths, bringing with it a reminder of the things they had done and ones they couldn’t do. 

Arthur cupped his jaw and pressed forward like he didn’t care but it was a front Merlin had learned to see through. Arthur did care, too much, about what everyone thought and would think, had nightmares about expectations and his father’s disappointed eyes. He would never tell Merlin as much because he knew he would never need to, but the fact – the fact was that the cover of darkness made him bold, and Merlin couldn’t shed these feelings at the first ray of light. 

“Don’t,” he whispered, but the word echoed in the quiet. Arthur turned away, jaw clenched like he wanted to say something he knew he shouldn’t. Merlin stopped him before he said it anyway. 

“Go back to the party, Arthur.”

For a second Merlin thought he would argue, or just pull him into another kiss, bully his way into Merlin’s mouth and mutter, “resistance is futile,” like he used to, swallow Merlin’s answering laugh. He stood up instead, and walked out without a word. 

Merlin let his head fall back against the wall.

* * *

Smok found him asleep in the shed a few hours later, slumped on the floor and drooling. He was toed awake and then manhandled outside while Merlin blearily wiped sleep out of his eyes. Merlin could tell there was a lecture on the tip of Smok’s tongue but he resisted until they were at the pool, amidst the litter and spills and occasional overturned chair. He handed Merlin a broom and informed him that most people worked for their paycheque, voice gentling when Merlin bowed his head and toed the ground. 

“Sorry,” Merlin sighed, picking up a glass that had rolled precariously near to the edge of the pool. “D’you think rich people make more of a mess because they know they won’t have to clean it up?”

Smok’s mouth twitched at the corners but he only leveled Merlin with a look and made for the house, apparently confident in Merlin’s ability to handle the poolside alone. Merlin wasn’t quite sure, himself – the gardens were deserted and the underwater lights made the pool glow, which in turn made the hairs on the back of Merlin’s neck rise. He didn’t know what time it was and couldn’t be arsed to find out

He worked quickly and didn’t stop to press his fingers to his mouth, didn’t regret pushing Arthur away – in fact, Merlin didn’t think about Arthur at all, until he looked up from a spill to find Arthur standing right in front of him, shrugging out of his suit and letting his trousers pool on the cobblestone.

Merlin blinked. “Arthur?” His voice came out embarrassingly high so he cleared his throat and tried again, said, “What the hell are you—” while Arthur took off his shirt and dove into the pool without so much as a glance in his direction.

Merlin stared as he swam low, turned in a lazy spin underwater before rising for a quick, gasping breath of air. The night turned his body into a study in shadows, defining his muscles and highlighting his hair, making Merlin’s stomach twist with want. Arthur kicked lazily to keep himself afloat and his body was distorted by the water but it didn’t hide the fact that he’d taken off his pants as well; Merlin set a glass down carefully and forced his hands to stop shaking.

“Are you drunk?” he demanded once he’d regained control of his voice, keeping his eyes fixed on Arthur’s face as he swam closer, a strange mimicry of the other afternoon. Merlin didn’t have a rake for his hands to clutch at now so he drew them into fists instead. 

“Tipsy,” Arthur replied, and he didn’t slur the word but alcohol was obvious in the lax set of his shoulders, the heat in his eyes when he looked up. “Come swim with me.” 

“You’re not just tipsy,” Merlin said, ignoring the quietly voiced request. “You’re plastered, how many of those fruity pink things did you—”

“Merlin.” 

Merlin quieted, but Arthur didn’t say any more. Expectation steadied his voice and he might as well have said _I know you won’t say no_ because it was assurance that made him hold Merlin’s gaze. It wasn’t a request and it wasn’t a demand but Merlin heard both _please_ and _now,_ would have said he was powerless to resist if it wasn’t for the fact that he didn’t even want to. 

The next few minutes bled into each other, passed in a blur. It was cold out but Merlin didn’t feel the bite on his skin as he undressed and Arthur’s eyes stayed locked on his own, nearly making him trip over his own feet as he toed off his shoes. The water was hot enough to shock him as he slid into the pool, lapping at first his calves, then waist, then chest, until Merlin curled his toes and let it cover him. It stung his chapped lips and made his cock fill or – or maybe that was Arthur, wading closer and gripping him by the arms. He lifted Merlin to the surface and pressed him against the edge in one slick move, face drawn in hunger even through the water dripping into Merlin’s eyes. 

There was smooth tile against his back and Merlin felt weightless in the water. He thought he might float away if Arthur wasn’t anchoring him, if large hands weren’t gripping his hips tight enough to hurt. They kissed like it was no surprise; like it had been leading up to this all along, like taking one step forward and two steps back was an intricate dance and not the end of their relationship, like they were always going to end up with their hands clasped when the music stopped. 

Arthur tasted like chlorine and Merlin kissed him hungrily, curled his fingers into wet blond hair and held Arthur still while he bit at his mouth. Their bodies were rocking along with the water – or was it them that led the wave? Merlin wasn’t sure and didn’t care as long as Arthur kept touching him, never stopped.

“Merlin,” Arthur mouthed the word against his throat before biting down, making him gasp and arch up. “Let me,” he murmured, and his hands were dragging up Merlin’s chest and tugging at his nipples until Merlin bit out a, “Yeah, yes – Arthur—”

It was easy to wrap his legs around Arthur’s waist in the water, let him hold up their combined weight. The position knocked Merlin harder into the edge of the pool but their hips were slotting together and Arthur was shaking apart under his palms, cursing and pleading under his breath for some nameless thing only Merlin seemed to possess. 

Merlin traced the curve of his ear with his thumb and Arthur turned his head to suck an open mouthed kiss to his wrist, dragged his teeth over the bone. Merlin’s hand tightened in his hair and he made a sound that could have been a moan if it didn’t sound so broken, soothing over the pinched skin with hungry swipes of his tongue. 

He hissed when Merlin bucked into him and shifted his hands down to cup his ass, slid his fingers into the crease and over his hole, soft swipes and slow presses until Merlin was vibrating with the need to get him inside. 

“Come on,” Arthur murmured, and Merlin bit at his lip in retaliation, an unspoken ‘ _you_ come on’ that had him laughing into his mouth. The first finger was a tease and the second a stretch, the third a burn that had Merlin throwing his head back and knocking it against tile. 

“Ouch,” Arthur managed to get out between panting and wheezing from laughter and Merlin groaned out “Shut up, shut up, just fuck me—” and promptly realized they were in the water and they had no condoms and—

“No, wait,” he gasped, clawing a little at the back of Arthur’s neck as the fingers inside him curled hard. “We don’t have, we—”

“I know,” Arthur said, pressing kisses into the corner of his mouth, the edge of his jaw, “can I just—with my fingers, Merlin, I want—” He broke off to kiss Merlin hard, then pulled back and said, “Wanna make you come with my fingers, can I,” and did he really think Merlin was going to say no to that?

Arthur laughed again and for a second Merlin wondered what the hell had been in those fruity pink drinks, before he realized he’d said that out loud. Arthur must have seen the revelation in his expression because his smile turned fond, a quirk of the lip that wasn’t entitled or mocking, just unbearably sweet, and Merlin’s heart tripped over itself the way they said it would in the trashy romance novels Gwen kept around and Merlin certainly didn’t read.

He said as much and Arthur tucked his face into the crook of his neck, still laughing. “Looks like I’m not the only one who’s drunk.”

Merlin twisted his face into a leer that never failed to send Arthur into stitches. “Drunk off of _you,_ ” he said, and it was embarrassingly close to the truth but Arthur was never going to hear that from him. 

“God,” Arthur said as he lifted his head and kissed Merlin full on the mouth, thrusting his tongue inside like he owned it. Merlin made a muffled noise and Arthur pulled back to look at him, nudge their noses together and say, “Missed you, Merlin, missed your stupid fucking mouth—” and Merlin cut him off with another kiss because he couldn’t hear that just yet, couldn’t stand the way it turned him boneless and needy and so fucking vulnerable, like he was begging Arthur to tear him apart again. 

Arthur recognized the censor for what it was – of course he would, so used to getting his way, of course – and the kiss turned punishing, the hard of edge of teeth digging into the soft skin of Merlin’s lip. Merlin cupped Arthur’s face with both hands and brushed his thumbs against his cheekbones, the corner of his eyes. 

“Arthur,” he whispered between their mouths, and reached down to curl a hand around his cock, squeeze and pull, a slow drag that had Arthur moaning low in his throat. “Touch me.” 

A hand was on him instantly and Merlin squeezed his eyes shut against the intensity as Arthur scissored his fingers and pressed them _right there_ , yes, yes, please, a little more, just—

Arthur brushed their mouths together, whispered, “Still love you,” and Merlin’s body jerked with shock as well as orgasm, until he was crushed under the force of pleasure and pain and irrepressible joy. Arthur caught his startled cry with his mouth and it was too much, he couldn’t keep up, shuddering and shaking and left completely wrecked. 

He didn’t know when Arthur came, or if he even did, because as soon as Merlin stopped feeling like he was going to shatter if he moved, he was pushing Arthur away, jerking out of his hold and grabbing for the pool ladder. Arthur didn’t try to keep him from climbing out but Merlin couldn’t find it in himself to be grateful as he jerked his pants up his legs, uncaring that he was dripping wet. 

“Merlin.” Arthur’s voice was tired and more plaintive than it had any right to be, as if _Merlin_ had been the one to end their relationship in front of the startled patrons of their favorite pub, as if it was Merlin that had broken his heart and not the other way around. “Merlin, I—”

“Don’t,” Merlin bit out for the second time that night and he wished he’d stopped it at the kiss, so he wasn’t still trembling from the aftershocks of orgasm when they finally, finally had this conversation. “You don’t get to say that to me. Not anymore.” 

“Why?” Merlin could just picture the obstinate jut of Arthur’s jaw, the frown creasing his brow. “It’s true. I meant it.” 

Merlin tried to choke out a laugh but didn’t manage much more than a small, broken noise. “It’s easy for you to mean it now. What happens tomorrow, Arthur, huh? What happens when I want to come over and kiss you and I don’t want to do it behind a fucking tree?” Merlin shrugged on his shirt and ironed the tremble out of his voice. “I’ll tell you what happens: you send me away and you wait until the middle of the night when you’re sure daddy’s asleep to call me and say, I’m sorry, Merlin, but you know why we can’t—”

“Fuck you,” Arthur gritted out. “Look at me when you’re talking to me.” 

Merlin turned and met Arthur’s furious, bright eyes. “I thought it was easier for you if you didn’t have to see my face. You didn’t want to see it ever again, remember?”

“I was drunk,” Arthur said, hoarse. “You know that, you know I didn’t know what I was—”

“You’re drunk now,” Merlin said viciously. “And you don’t know what you’re saying, you have no idea what it means to me when – when you say things like that, you can’t just _say_ them and not expect me to think about it all the fucking time—”

“It’s not just you, all right? You’re not the only one that can’t stop thinking about it, so stop – stop making yourself out to be the fucking victim because I wasn’t the only one who said things.”

“You’re the one who left!” Merlin yelled. “I was the one who called you the next morning and you were the one who never picked up, you were the one who _ended it!_ ” 

“You pushed me into it! You never backed up, not even once, never gave me a chance to—”

“Don’t you fucking blame this on me, I never _made_ you do anything!”

“—and you’re not giving me a chance now,” Arthur talked over him, voice rising until it matched Merlin’s for volume. “You fucking know it all, don’t you? You aren’t even going to ask what I think, what I—what I want, if you’d just let me explain—”

“ _No._ I’m done with your explanations, I’m so bloody sick of hearing why we can’t and why you won’t and why I’ll always be second best and sometimes. Sometimes not even that. You keep explaining and I keep waiting for you to – to _do_ something, something more than string me along and you don’t, Arthur, you never do.”

“I want to,” Arthur said, shockingly quiet after the echo of Merlin’s shouts. “Merlin. If you’d just let me…”

Merlin shook his head because he couldn’t trust himself to speak anymore, glad for the water still dripping into his eyes. He felt raw, like Arthur had stripped him of his skin instead of his clothes, left him open and bloody and exposed to the biting air. He blinked hard and didn’t look at Arthur as he put on his jacket, slipped into his shoes and turned around. 

He looked back once, but it was only to say: “Get out of the bloody pool, Arthur. You’re drunk.”

* * *

The next morning dawned bright and perversely cheerful. 

Merlin had expected rain clouds when he looked out the window, expected the recent weather to come to a head and wash everything out. But the sun was shining and if there had been birds near the fifth floor of his building Merlin was sure they would be chirping. 

They _were_ chirping outside the café, though the crowd of people that nearly crushed him in effort to get their caffeine fix drowned them out. There wasn’t a chance of getting a booth inside this time so Merlin and Morgana took their coffee to go and settled at the base of a bare maple, identical Styrofoam cups in hand. 

“I heard you got your job back,” Morgana said before Merlin had even taken the first sip. It had been obvious from her phone call this was going to be more of an interrogation than an easy get-together, but Merlin had thought she’d let him get his bearings in order, at least, before dragging him into a conversation he would really rather not be having. 

He fiddled the zipper on his jacket and wondered if it wasn’t too late to back out. He chanced a glance at Morgana and the set of her jaw more than answered that question.

“I did,” he replied finally. “Gauis didn’t exactly take me back with open arms, but he’s short on help right now.” Merlin worried the corner of his bottom lip. “He’s getting old. I mean, I can’t remember him ever being _young,_ but he gets tired so easily now.”

“I didn’t realize.” Merlin looked up to find Morgana watching him carefully. “That he was like a father to you.” 

Merlin scratched the bridge of his nose and laughed, almost embarrassed. “We don’t really act like it, yeah? But – yeah. He’s as close as it’s going to get, for me.” 

“He’s nothing like Uther,” Morgana said, and Merlin looked up to find her looking away. “Maybe that’s why you don’t…”

“What?” Merlin asked, abrupt. “Why I don’t understand his relationship with Arthur? You’d be surprised, Morgana.” 

“You know it from Arthur’s side of things, but you haven’t lived it. Uther isn’t just overbearing, he’s –” Morgana shook her head. “Arthur’s spent his whole life trying to rise to his expectations, trying to do what he would want him to. His whole life. You can’t expect him to break free of that at the drop of a hat.”

“I didn’t.” Merlin’s voice was subdued, and he felt tired down to his bones. “I never asked that of him. Not once.” 

Morgana’s mouth twisted into an unhappy line. “You backed him into a corner, but you didn’t expect him to lash out?”

“No, because that’s what we _did._ That’s who we were – we never backed down and we never settled. He wasn’t the only one with people who expected things from him. You think it was easy to come out to my mum? You think I didn’t make myself sick wondering what she would say?” 

“I’m not saying it was easy,” Morgana said. “But your mother isn’t Uther, isn’t anything even close. Arthur is – trying, which is more than he’s ever done before. I know he’s hurt you but just give him a chance, Merlin, just give him some time—”

“Because two years wasn’t enough?” 

Morgana fell silent and Merlin let a rueful smile curl his mouth, picking at the blades of grass under his fingertips and taking in a slow breath. When he looked at Morgana again she was staring at her hands, a frown lining her brow. 

“I’m sorry,” she said, and her voice was as clear and strong as it had always been, even when she met Merlin’s eyes. “You were just going to sit there and listen to me defend him, weren’t you?” 

Merlin shrugged and nudged her knee with his foot. “You’re his sister.”

“Step,” she corrected automatically and he laughed at the reflex until she joined with a wry chuckle, bright eyed. She toed him back and retracted her foot quickly when Merlin raised his eyebrows. 

“Daring of you,” Merlin teased, and she rolled her eyes, stood up and brushed herself off. Merlin took the hand she offered and found himself pulled into a hug that was over before it had even really begun. 

“I can see why he’s so crazy about you,” she said, brushing her hair out of her eyes, and she looked so solemn Merlin had to swallow around a lump in his throat.

Their shoulders brushed as they walked and it felt a lot like being told _it’s going to be all right._

* * *

Maybe the conversation with Morgana had made him more aware, or maybe it was his own fanciful thinking, but Merlin spent the rest of the day loitering around the house, staring at the street outside his window and tripping over himself to answer the phone when it rang. 

Out of the three times it did, one was a telemarketer and two consisted of Gwen reminding him to put the milk in the fridge and asking him how he was holding up in the most vague, subtle way possible. Which, for Gwen, turned out to be, “Have you been crying again?” and “Turn off the telly, Merlin, you know Animal Planet upsets you.” 

Her observation wasn’t entirely wrong, but Merlin found the birth of baby elephants rather soothing, and told her as much. He was curled up on the sofa, dozing off to the sound of cheerful trumpets when the buzzer rang and nearly caused him to brain himself on the coffee table.

It was late afternoon, probably the most inconvenient time there was for a visit when it came to Merlin; the interruption of his nap was a hangable offence, and anyone who cared enough to visit was made well aware of that fact. Still, expectation crowded Merlin’s mind as he shuffled to the door, sleepy thoughts vanquished by _could it—is it—maybe—_

Merlin didn’t bother looking through the eyehole, just opened the door with fumbling hands. Arthur looked as tired as he felt on the other side, hair sticking up every which way like he’d spent hours running his hands through it, the slump of his shoulders making something catch in Merlin’s chest.

“Hullo,” he said, and his voice sounded like he’d been screaming. “I think I’ve been disowned.”

“Did you deserve it?” Merlin asked, and then bit down hard on his tongue. Arthur’s presence did incomprehensible damage to his brain-to-mouth filter.

Arthur let out a short laugh and lifted a hand to rub at his eyes. “I called my father a controlling, bigoted egomaniac. Think I might’ve deserved it, yeah.” 

Merlin opened the door wider and stepped aside, vision going a little blurry at the edges. He didn’t think he could look at Arthur for much longer without doing something embarrassing, so he busied himself with the lock instead, running his hands over the cool metal until they’d stopped shaking so noticeably. 

When he turned around, he found Arthur watching him. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed and said, “Merlin. Does this mean—”

“—that I don’t hate you enough to shut the door in your face?” Merlin finished for him, ignoring the way his voice wobbled. “It might.” 

“Well that’s something, at least,” Arthur muttered, and slumped down onto the sofa, relaxing abruptly. Merlin wished he wasn’t that good at picking up on what he really meant to say, but it spared them from having to talk about their _feelings_ so Merlin couldn’t really begrudge him.

A baby elephant was nuzzling its mother on the telly when Merlin moved to turn it off. Arthur’s gaze was focused on some spot over Merlin’s left ear and the last, most intense rays of sunlight spun gold out of his hair. 

“He’ll come around, you know. I’m all he has, really,” Arthur said. He looked down and picked at a nail. “But right now, I… haven’t got a place to stay – or a job, or any money.” 

Merlin was tempted to draw it out, for a brief, resentful second. It wasn’t often he had Arthur at his mercy, but that was just it – he was entirely unprepared for the unassuming bow of his head, the magnitude of what he’d done and what he was asking Merlin to do.

It wasn’t even a choice, really, in the end. There wasn’t anything to do but sit down next to him, press the line of their bodies together from shoulder to ankle, rest a hand palm up on Arthur’s thigh and say, light, 

“I think Gaius could use another cashier.” 

Arthur’s hand felt warm against his own and the curl of Merlin’s fingers said _love._

fin


End file.
